


Less Words, More Kisses

by withaflashoflove



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withaflashoflove/pseuds/withaflashoflove
Summary: Based on a tumblr prompt request: Iris's feelings when her and Barry kiss.





	

He’s a shy kisser.

She noticed that first, the first time he kissed her, or rather she kissed him. Not counting the time they kissed and she didn’t remember. Or the other time they kissed and she didn’t remember (he apologized for both. She told him apologies weren’t enough and he had to let her catch up. She did.). No, the first time they kissed and they _both_ remembered it, she noticed his hesitance. And his reluctance, kind of nervous, kind of jittery, kind of chary, like he didn’t know how much to give or whether it was okay to give too much or whether he was supposed to take the lead, or whether he was supposed to let her lead.

She noticed it by the way his hands shook when they grazed her waist, and by the way she had to hold him steady and link her own hands around his neck, in hopes of calming him.

She leaned in first. At least she thought she did. Truthfully, she didn’t quite remember; maybe they met each other halfway. But those were all details…details she didn’t particularly care to remember or just couldn’t remember because so many other things happened. Because when his lips touched hers, she felt his heart speed up, felt his breath stop, felt his body still completely while somehow working overtime all at the same time. And then she felt hers do the same, the way her breath hitched, the way she was all of a sudden incapable of grounding herself to the earth, how she felt herself float under his touch. 

She liked his lips on hers though. Decided they feel like satin, really smooth and really tender and a bit boyish. But also electric. Like enough watts to light up all the lights at Christmas.

She remembered wondering why she was thinking about physics when they were kissing. Maybe because he was a science guy and somehow science became their unspoken language, or maybe it was because it comforted her to think of familiar things, to remind herself that even though they were kissing, this was still _him_ , this was still _them_ , this was still their relationship, in all of its tentativeness but constancy, this would always still be them. 

She didn’t know when she stopped kissing him. She just knew she missed his lips the moment they left hers.

He’s a flirty kisser.

She figured that out soon enough. When they got a little bolder with each other, when they settled into a pretty normal routine, in between shy and heated. When they used humor and teasing as a way to keep themselves laughing.

He liked her laugh. She liked seeing his smile when she laughed. And he usually got that out of her when he pinned her to the couch and crept his fingers along her belly, over her shirt. He knew she was ticklish, but he used it a lot more during their _dating_ stage. And she’d laugh hard and he’d use her panting as leverage to climb on top of her, almost in a soft way, careful not to crush her under him, but also in a determined way, with his eyes glistening and his smile big as he watched her flutter her eyes open, the laughter fading when it reached the tip of her tongue.

He’d always wait till she stopped laughing, that she noticed. Then he’d dip his head slowly until his lips met hers, but even then the fun didn’t stop. Because his fingers kept roaming, kept making her smile, and his tongue kept teasing against her lips, then against her teeth, then against the top of her mouth, and it was all too playful and too frivolous and she loved the way he was so _easy_ with her…loved the way he made her feel happy, giddy even, like she was his crush and he was hers, like two people who were so enamored finally found their way to each other. 

Whenever he gave her one of these kisses, she felt like she was preparing to slide down the longest slide in the biggest playground or jump off the swing from its highest point. There was so much excitement in her chest, her heartbeat raced out of control, but it made her feel so alive, so joyful, so adventurous and brave. And she knew she’d never get hurt, not with him holding her hand the entire way. 

He’s a lazy kisser. 

She caught on to that after the second time they fell asleep in each other’s arms, while staying up and watching movies. Somehow, during both times, she found herself waking up to him spooning her, to his head buried in her neck, to his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, to their legs tangled together, with the blanket only half covering them and the cushions all tossed to the ground. 

She’d let herself relish in his warmth a little while before stirring in his arms, and he’d wake up ever so slowly, he’d take his time to come alive from whatever dream he was having (which by his smile always seemed like the best dream…Iris wasn’t sure what he was dreaming about. He later told her it was always her).

And when he woke up, she’d feel him smile against her neck and pepper open-mouthed kisses to her jawline, taking his sweet time before connecting his lips to hers, all while holding her closer, like he never wanted to let go.

They’d make out for a while, for a few minutes, sometimes for more than a few minutes, before either of them really moved; they’d let the sun shine through the living room windows and the birds chirp the world awake. All while they were still kissing.

Iris liked his lazy kisses a lot, liked that they were sloppy and slow, liked that he took his time and let himself explore every part of her mouth and of her neck and everywhere else he wanted to, before coming back to her lips (he’d always find his way back to her lips). She liked the way he was half-asleep, but woke up a little more with every passing minute. And she definitely liked how  _soft_ he was…how he’d somehow always manage to get under her in the process, but how it felt like she was still lying on the couch, like his muscles turned to fabric and his bones were pillows and he was her own safe haven, her own bliss and comfort for the rise of the morning.

He’s a passionate kisser.

Intense almost. The first time they slept together, those types of kisses really came to fruition.

It wasn’t gentle or tender like they’d previously been. But it wasn’t rushed or impulsive either. She just realized Barry had a way of making her feel fire inside her stomach, for making her feel weak at the knees, with the way he was holding her, with the way he was grabbing at her clothes and all-but ripping them off her, with the way his lips danced with hers, almost trapped hers, made hers swell because they had to work extra hard to keep up with his.

She couldn’t breath that night. That night they first found their way inside her apartment, that night he had her pushed up against the door and was working his fingers underneath her shirt. She didn’t know how it happened, didn’t know how a movie and dinner suddenly made him so irresistible that she just _had_ to invite him in, felt like her life depended on him kissing her senseless, like she couldn’t live to see another day if his body wasn’t flushed against hers.

He didn’t limit his kisses to her lips. No, that night, he let his lips travel to every part of her body, kissed every inch of skin he could see, lingered on stretch marks and her birthmark, lingered especially on the inside of her thighs, almost like he was enjoying the way her back was arching for him, the way her hands were fisting his hair, the way she was panting fast and he was moving agonizingly slow, the way she was dazed and dizzy and stars lit up her eyes.

Those kisses didn’t allow her to think. In fact, her mind blanked most of the time; it was always too busy stalling, like there was suddenly this burst of white light in her brain and it turned itself off and she was too focused on trying not to lose control of her body to think of anything else.

Barry knew how to use his tongue. That she remembered. She liked his tongue a lot. Almost as much as his lips.

He’s a romantic kisser.

That he showed to her every day. And really, ever kiss could fall into this category, she knew that. Because every time he kissed her, she felt like his entire heart was on his sleeve. Even the chaste kisses, the kisses to the cheek and the forehead, the quick ones to the side of the mouth and to her shoulder….it didn’t matter what.

It just made her feel some type of way. Like with his lips touching any part of her, she had extra support, she had him by her side and nothing could take away the calmness that gave to her, nothing could take away how she felt warm and safe and protected and loved all at once.

Barry liked to kiss. He snuck kisses whenever he had the chance, when she was least expecting them or most prepared, when she was feeling on top of the world or at her lowest low, it didn’t matter to him. What mattered was connecting them somehow, was giving her a little pick-me-up, charming her, making her feel like time stilled for just a few moments, reminding her that the world spun for others but stopped for them. 

He was a hopeless romantic. His kisses were his proof.

And she wouldn’t want it any other way.


End file.
